


Through Hell and holy water

by Binks



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Maggot Husbands, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-12 03:31:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20144581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Binks/pseuds/Binks
Summary: When Hastur gets demoted to earth duty and comes across a familiar face with no memories and a lizard, he has to seek out the help of heaven and hell's #1 most wanted to get things back to the way they were. But heaven has its own plans for how the cards will play out that threaten everything he's trying to get back...





	1. Unexpected arrivals

HELL, 1 WEEK AFTER ARMADIDN'T 

Hell was mad. Okay granted, Hell was always mad, what with wrath being one of the big bads and all. But this wasn't the regular kind of anger. This was the "the armageddon we've been planning for millennia just got stopped by seemingly the only demon our means of punishment have no effect on" kind of mad. And let me tell you, that kind of mad is never good for anyone.  
As Hastur, the rather shaken duke of Hell, was quickly finding out. The traitors trial was supposed to be justice for all of this, but his apparent immunity to Hell's only useful weapon had resulted in a trial with no execution. What it had left was a palpable, and I suppose warranted, fear of Crowley.  
This fear could be blamed for Beelzebub's sudden decision that it was best to let Crowley return to earth, and for all of Hell to leave him alone.  
But Hell needed a way to take this anger out, and it just so happened that the next in the firing range was Hastur. He recalled bitterly what he had told the little demon earlier when tasked to test the holy water; "Wrong place, wrong time." he'd said. It was a far less acceptable reason now that he was at the wrong end of it.  
His scowl deepened as he quickened his pace, heavy boots crushing tiny bits of debris as he ripped through the halls towards Beelzebub's "office ". He wasn't even sure what his punishment was to be yet, but he could guess it wasn't going to be pleasant. It never was. Besides, an imagination had never been Hasturs strong point, and his mind was still refusing to let go of the memories of Crowley's trial, how the holy water had no effect. How Hastur had called the snakes bluff when that droplet had hit his hand. He didn't think it was a bluff anymore.

The rotting, ancient doors pulled open before him, leading him into a grungy,cluttered and cramped little room that had been decorated in a poor attempt to appear sophisticated. Perched behind a great wooden desk piled high either side with paperwork was a weathered old throne, the metal deformed and the ratty cushions patchy and discoloured from years of use. The flies buzzing around the room were the only sound to be heard, save for the groaning bang of the doors slamming back into place.  
Beelzebub sat in the throne, a slightly deeper look of exhausted annoyance than usual etched into their face. Hastur greeted the Prince, more of a fearful formality than anything. Demons weren't usually formal mind you, but even they knew that when the higher ups are just itching to tear something apart, it's best to keep their heads down and mouths shut.  
Beelzebub didn't dignify him with a response, instead they sat further back into the throne, back straightened and forearms stiffly laid on the chairs worn armrests. An attempt at intimidation, he realised. Hastur forced himself not to wince under the stony glare as beelzebub cleared their throat.  
"Duke Hazztur, I believe you were tazzked to zztop the demon Crowley from preventing our lordzz rizze to power. You and Duke Ligur were zzent to retrieve him, izz that correct?"  
The demon gulped, not only at the reminder of his failure, but also at the mention of Ligur. He was gone, still permanently destroyed with no hope of return. Something stuck in his throat as he nodded.  
"Yes your grace. We didn't antic'pate the snake setting a trap. He sm'how got his 'ands on holy water. The bastard turned on 'is own."  
Beelzebub stiffened further, and Hastur couldn't help but wonder for a moment if their spine would snap if they sat much straighter. They continued;  
"Then, following Ligurzz death you not only failed to prevent Crowley from reaching the dark lordzz szzon, you got yourzzelf dizzcorporated azz well."  
Hastur nearly cowered as he felt eyes bore into his head. Nearly.  
"Yes, majesty. He escaped."  
He felt ashamed to say it, but shame was not a demonly thing to feel, so he quickly converted it to another bitter knife twist that he'd save for somebody else later. He didn't have time for that for now.  
Instead he tried puffing his chest up a bit, his own act of intimidation. The last thing he wanted was to look weak, especially at a time like this. His actions were seemingly ignored as Beelzebub continued, eyes boring straight through him.  
"Azz punizzment for your failure to zztop the traitor from achieving hizz act of treazzon, you will be taking hizz place on earth, and you will be dizmizzed from your role azz Duke."  
Hastur felt his jaw drop before he even fully acknowledged what had been said. The princes words trickled like lava through his brain, leaving a burning rage in their wake as he balled his fists, temper barely controlled in front of what was essentially his boss. It took all of his willpower to keep his mouth shut as he nodded in a way that could only be described as forced.  
"Very well, when am I to start?"  
He wanted this over with, ignoring the little voice that rightly wailed it wouldn't be that easy.  
"You will start now."  
There was a click, and the sound of buzzing became distorted with the rest of the world as Hastur vanished from the dingy room, re-materialising in a filthy back alley. He didn't even bother brushing off the chunks of garbage and asphalt he'd pushed through, as he screamed bloody murder to no one in particular, before switching to cursing everyone that came to mind. His foot collided with a nearby trashcan, sending it soaring down the alley into a wall as he shrieked. Far above him, a god looked down onto the scene from afar, shuffling her cards as she watched.

HEAVEN, DURING THE RESET

Heaven and Hell are located in what any human would recognise as an office building. There are many entrances, leading to either the basement, deep below the earth, or the top floor, which towers above mortal existance. The view from the top is clean, clinical , looking over an expanse of white recreations if the earth's wonders, new and old. Amongst these wonders of the world were a few holier additions. The Crown jewel of these additions, is known as the courtyard.  
The courtyard sits at the Base of Heavens territory, a beloved recreation of the earliest garden. This garden contains many kinds of life, including the species that didn't make it on earth. Foliage that had withstood the test of thousands of years grew beside plants that had died out at the very beginning, no matter their usual growing conditions. Sitting in pride of place at the centre, is a fountain. Smooth marble, with a statue of an ancient, twisted fruit tree seemingly suspended at its centre. The roots go deep, the fountain itself bottomless and filled with crystal clear water.  
This water drip-filters in from below, from the holy water that had served it's time on earth in human hands. As the vapour rises, it returns to the place it was blessed for. A perfect, ineffable cycle. The fountain was a primary store for heavens most effective weapon for the coming war against hell. And it was for exactly that reason that a squadron of angels were knelt at its edge in time to witness someone crawl their way out.  
The water had begun to bubble, starting with small little pops, growing in power and volume until the water was frothing, lapping violently against the edges of the pool. The angels stared in awe stricken fear as a hand ripped through the choppy surface, desperately scrabbling for the edge of the fountain. Following the first hand came another, which joined in the search of salvation against the endless depths. Wet hands Slapped onto sun warmed marble, gripping the ledge and heaving the form of a tall, solid figure with quaking shoulders. The figure drew ragged breaths, choking and spluttering as they clung to the fountains edge like a lifeline.  
The angels snapped into action, rushing yo heave the stranger out. One particularly unfortunate soul, found that, upon looking for wings to grab to help lift the man out, there were only mangled stumps, protruding about a foot from the figures shoulder blades.  
Between them, the angels pulled the still retching man out of the water, as he dropped to his hands and knees, coughing up more of the glittering liquid. His elbows buckled, dropping him at the feet of the frightened group as the man fell unconscious on the granite paved floor of Eden.


	2. In the alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hastur thinks back over his situation the past week

Hell had been chaos the previous week. Beelzebub was tasked with the harrowing duty of not only breaking the news that there was to be no war, but also getting thousands of riled up demons to go back to work. Hastur remembered how Hell had been bustling with a buzzing fury, stagnant air ringing with cries and demands of justice for centuries-old dashed dreams.   
That was when they heard of the reset.  
A field demon had come tumbling into the main bowel of Beelzebub's court, almost falling at their feet as he gasped the news that the antichrist child had reset the Earth. All those collected souls, gone. All the dead were returned to their lives, and they all seemed none the wiser to the previous days occurrences.   
He barely heard as the demon cowered further, shakily recounting how the traitors had even had their prized possessions restored. Everything was just how it had been before armegeddon had even begun. The roars of protests in the room had grown too loud, melting together into a piercing, feral cry.   
His head had spun, and he had found himself shoving through dim hallways and creaking doors to get to his own office. To the desk beside it. He didn't know what he expected to see as he swung into the room, breathing ragged (which was unusual, he doesn't even need to breathe) as his eyes landed on the still empty desk that once belonged to Ligur.  
The leak was still there, and the piles of paperwork he'd neglected due to the last weeks events. But the only other "living" things in the room were the bugs that skittered across the concrete floor.  
Useless breaths came in heavy puffs as he had tried to unscramble his thoughts, attempting to push down the reason he had run so fast to this particular corner of Hell. Shaky hands had come up to scrape down his face, before promptly burying themselves in white hair and tugging in a vain attempt to pull his thoughts out and toss them away.   
Everything should be back to how it was. That was what the demon had reported. The boy had restored every life, down to the most insignificant human. There was no way he knew of each and every casualty, so surely his reality altering tricks should put everything back?? So why was it that he was standing here, staring at the empty desk of his-  
There was a rapping on the doorframe behind him. Standing meekly in the doorway was a messenger, clutching what Hastur recognised was a summon in one hand, whilst holding something to their chest with the other. The demon cleared their throat almost timidly, like they feared the words they had been ordered to deliver.  
"Duke Hastur, Lord Beelzebub has ordered your presence for the capture of the demon Crowley. They say you are to lead a small group to intercept him this afternoon, to bring him to trial for his crimes. His crimes against Hell are not to go unpunished, and that you personally are to see that he is apprehended immediately."  
The demon handed over the paperwork as soon as they finished reading it out, scrunching the summon slightly as it was snatched away. Hastur huffed, adressing the messenger without so much as a glance;  
"Is that all?"  
They gulped again, refusing to look at the Duke.   
"No, sir. Lord Beelzebub also asked that you were to be given this."  
Unfolding their other arm, the demon handed over a bundle of dark, torn fabric. The bundle was old, ragged from years of wear, and weighed familiarly in his arms. Unfolding it, Hastur stared in horror at the remains of Ligurs coat.  
"A squadron of field agents found it at the gates Sir, we believe it may have been Duke Ligu-"  
A fist closed around the demons throat, and they were ash before they could finish the sentence.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
This couldn't be fair. Hastur knew the world wasn't fair, he's a demon for heavens sakes. But this, was unjustafiably cruel. It felt as if God herself was coming down upon him, warping his universe in the most twisted ways to keep any sort of closure from his reach. Justice had been so close, but he'd had to watch it crack and pale, melting away into the image of a demon, sitting unharmed in a tub of holy water for all of Hell to see. He thought back on how his face crumpled in fear at the sight, how he felt like he was watching the scene from outside his body as he subconsciously lurched away from a splash of the stuff. The bastard was taunting them. His little threats, the splashes of holy water that came too close for comfort, that stupid, smug smile that Hastur wanted to tear off of his face; all of it was ingrained in his memory as he sat, curled in on himself against a wall. He hadn't moved from where he'd first materialised above ground, hours ago now. The sun was long gone, lost behind a thick sheen of clouds earlier in the day. Not that it was still up now anyway, by the looks of the fading amber in the very distance over the skyline. Rumblings from the storm clouds above gave fair warning to those below of the oncoming downpour, but the former duke was too lost in his own head to notice the first drops of rain hitting his face.  
There had been panic. The higher ups had decided that it was best to let the traitor leave, but in his absence Hell was left with no dartboard to throw their anger at. There had been fights, groups breaking out into brawls in the narrow halls: fighting about what should happen now. In truth no one knew what to do, but one thing was clear. They were desperate. Hastur had spent as much of the next week as he could in his office; filing paperwork and just generally trying to keep out of the line of fire. He liked to think that keeping up with his work would keep him out of hot water. He couldn't help but laugh bitterly at that, the sound a choked, pitiful thing. What a stupid assumption.  
It had taken about a week for Hell to find a new scapegoat. The summon came once again to his office, demanding his presence before Beelzebub. The evidence they presented was scratched together, in a strained attempt at a case against him. But everyone in Hell knows you don't mess with the Prince. Their word goes, if you want to see tomorrow.   
It was this mindset that had landed him where he was now. Soaked to the bone, hunched in a crappy back alley in the dark. His hands were tangled into his hair again, nails picking at his head as bony fingers tore and dragged their way across his scalp.   
This wasn't fair. None of this was fair. The bastard snake had gotten off Scott free. Free to run off into the sunset with his happy life and his shiny car and his immunity to the only thing that could wipe him off the Earth's sorry face. It was bullshit. None of this made sense, and Hastur didn't want to try and make sense of it anymore. Instead, he opted to yank harder at his hair, voice raising in another broken scream, screeching to the world all of the misfortunes he had suffered, and how it could all get fucked. He was tired, he was confused, and all he could do was wail. When his throat began to give out, he resorted to throwing things. Breaking bottles, launching bin lids off into the shadows, anything to release the pent up rage he held over everything that had happened in the past fortnight. This onslaught went on for some time, until much of the garbage was scattered around, shards of glass glittering on the floor like failed stars in the rain. He slumped back down in the rubble again, back scraping against the eroding brickwork as he slid to the ground with what most would call a whimper. He felt numb now, but he didn't feel better. This was just another emotion he didn't understand. Another cruel joke. Christ he was getting tired of Her cruel jokes.  
But then he heard it.  
A quiet shuffling noise echoed from behind the door across from him. A thin band of light shone under the cracks beneath the door, as two shadows slowly moved to block the warm glow. Hastur quickly scrambled to his feet, grabbing a surviving bottle neck and placing the sharp end between him and the door on instinct. He stepped closer, eyeing up the metal door and preparing himself for whatever he was about to face. Stoney features locked into place as he prepared to take his anger out in a new way, grip tightening on the bottleneck.  
Without warning, the door swung outward, and Hastur fell back in surprise. He landed gracelessly on his rear, left hand scrambling to reach for the bottle as it rolled off into the shadows of the alley. His eyes flickered up to the figure in the doorway. The shadow of a man loomed over him there, given extra height by the small step up the doorway was off the ground. He was well built, broad shoulders silhouetted by an over head light set further back in the hall. Hastur's glance dropped to the strangers hands; one held onto the inner doorknob, propping the metal door open. The other firmly gripped a crowbar, holding it at shoulder height in a raised position.   
The figure leaned forward so his face was clearer, and as Hastur's gaze returned to the other man's face, he felt his body begin to shake as his face drained of colour.  
Because there, standing in the doorway, was Ligur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo boy   
Hope yall like cliffhangers :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, guess who's aggressively igoring yet another character death! :)  
This is my first good omens fic, and I'm mainly writing it to be INCREDIBLY self indulgent, so I really hope you guys like it too ^-^
> 
> I hope you have a great day/night,  
Ciao! 👋


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